


sestra

by nctaliaromanova



Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Avengers: Endgame (Movie), Black Widow (2020), Cemetery, Character Death, Gen, Happy Ending, Headcanon, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Post-Avengers: Endgame (Movie), Reunions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-25
Updated: 2019-08-25
Packaged: 2020-09-26 07:53:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 701
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20386261
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nctaliaromanova/pseuds/nctaliaromanova
Summary: there was only one person who'd call her маленький.little one, not a nickname she particularly favoured,but as she stood before a grave, roses on the ground,rain pelting around her, she heard those forsaken wordsfor the first time in years. "sestra?" yelena whispered.





	sestra

**Author's Note:**

> this is based on a headcanon by iya (ncmadwidcw on twitter!)  
this could work as the post credit scene for the black widow  
movie :') i added in a few references to black widow: forever red!  
i hope you'll enjoy reading this one-shot! leave a comment if you'd like to :-)

As images of her fallen teammates were brought up in phased succession, she felt her heart clench, survivor’s guilt gnawing at her insides. 

_ Sam Wilson. Missing. _

_ Wanda Maximoff. Missing _

_ Peter Parker. Missing. _

Half the population. Billions dead— or missing, as Natasha would like to think. She had watched death toll numbers climb on hundreds of different occasions, but never had she seen more zeros on a screen than any previous mission report.  


As she sat around the interface with the remnants of the team, her eyes glazed over and vacant, the last person to appear before her eyes forced her to stall. 

** _Yelena Belova. Missing._ **

Her breath hitched. Yelena’s profile was enough to tide her over the edge, fists clenched and her eyes watery. 

Natasha knew that could only mean one thing; Yelena had died amongst the others. 

“_ Sestra. _” She whispered, shutting her eyes and letting her head fall into her hands as sobs wracked her frame.

————————————————————

**FIVE YEARS LATER.**

Moss-laden bricks greeted her as she stopped in front of the looming metal arch, umbrella in hand. The thick, black coat wrapped around her offered little respite from the harsh winds and bone-chilling temperatures, leaving her to shudder slightly. 

Rows upon rows of gravestones lined the compound; some crumbling, some sparkling anew. The epitaphs engraved onto them bathed softly in the moonlight, unfamiliar names greeting her. As she trod slowly, her gaze trailing over each gravestone with caution, she came to a stop in front of a particular grave.

_ Natasha Romanoff. _

_ The Black Widow. _

Lowering her umbrella to the ground, she let the rain seep through her blonde tresses, ignoring how the cold seemed to pierce through her skull and settle in her mind. 

“Natalia,” she started calmly, pulling a bouquet of roses from her coat to lay on the cool marble etched into the soil. 

She barely recalled the events after the snap, but her instincts told her that a part of her had left as soon as she returned. After days of going on the run to find answers to her unexplained loss, she was led to this particular cemetery.

There was a cluster of flowers laid before her grave, coupled with pictures and notes written by those closest to her. Some of them were written in cursive, some of them had child-like scribbles adorning the front. But all of them had one thing in common— they all had an hourglass symbol inscribed on them. 

“Идиот.” She crouched down onto the damp soil, whispering to no one in particular. 

That was the last word Natasha had said to her after a mission as they parted ways a few years ago. Yelena knew that her sacrifice had brought everyone back; herself included, but she couldn't help but think about how Natasha’s self-sacrificial act had also torn a piece of her away. The only piece connecting Yelena to her past. 

_ Devushki Ivana. _

** _Ivan’s girls._ **

_ Krasnaya Komnata. _

** _Red Room Girls._ **

For the first time in a decade, Yelena felt tears well up in the rims of her eyes, distorting the flowers laid before her into a sea of red. She was thankful the sound of rain gently pelting against the ground was enough to mask the sobs she struggled to keep in, her shoulders violently rising and falling with each breath she drew. 

But when she noticed a black shadow form on Natasha’s gravestone, she knew she wasn’t alone that night.

“Seems like you don’t know me at all, маленький.” A voice broke through the stale air hanging over the cemetery, her words smooth and collected. 

_ Маленький. _

_ Little one. _

Yelena knew there was only one person who’d ever call her that. Rushing to her feet, she whipped her head around to come face to face with another woman dressed just like her, black coat with an umbrella in hand. Except, she had fiery, auburn hair peeking out from beneath the umbrella, slightly damp with rain. 

Folding her arms around Natasha’s back, she let out a soft sigh of relief, reeling from the shock of meeting the person who was supposedly six feet beneath where she had been standing. 

  
“_Sestra? _” She felt a smile creep up on her face, and so did Natasha.

**Author's Note:**

> 'sestra' is russian for 'sister'!


End file.
